Warcraft 3:LotR
by FanGirlsRuinEverything
Summary: This occurs after the invasion of Azeroth fails, and now the Legion, under a not-so-new master, are attempting to take over Middle-Earth. Warcraft/LotR Xover. Probably been done before, but please bare with me on this! Rated T for safety and violence.


**A/N:** **This story's action will mainly go along with how you play Warcraft 3. A lot of the history of Middle-Earth is mainly for Lord of the Rings nerds like me. So, I apologize for things you don't understand (a.k.a. people you have never heard of, or places you've never heard of). The map of Middle-Earth that I used is the same map for the LotR version of Risk. So, please enjoy my first attempt at Warcraft fanfic!**

**Disclaimer:I do not own Warcraft 3, LotR, Silmarillion, or anything else mentioned in this story. They are all the sole property of their respective owners.**

Undead Campaign Act

One-Haradwaith

**Chapter One-Khand**

After the Legion's defeat in Azeroth, everyone thought they were gone for good. But no, little did anyone know, Sargeras was not truly dead, but only partly destroyed. Knowing the power of Azeroth, he knows not to try again, but has set his sights on a new world, Middle-Earth. His plan is similar to the plan used in Azeroth, like using the Undead, yet different, like not using a Lich King. But the history of Middle-Earth needs explaining, so, Men have strode out and inhabit nearly all the land, with the exception of Mirkwood, which belongs to the Last True Elves, who did not go over the Sea, Mordor, which they left to the surviving Orcs, because there were female Orcs apparently, and Rhun, which they have attempted to populate, but always failed. They have made a peaceful co-existence with the Dwarves and Hobbits, and have lived life in peace, believing that their worst enemies, Sauron and Morgoth the Enemy, are behind them, and are not aware of the Burning Legion, which comes to set their world to the flame. Even now, their plan is in motion, as some Undead come through a Demon Gate far in the South, in Haradwaith. The Lich, Coldreaver, and some Undead lackeys.

The Demon Gate shimmered as five Acolytes came through, followed by five Ghouls, and the Lich, Coldreaver.

"This is quite the desert. Reminds of the Barrens from Kalimdor," he said balefully, gazing at the barren lands.

"You would do well not to mention that land again," said a cruel voice behind him. Coldreaver whipped around to see that two Dreadlords had walked out of the Demon Gate.

"My apologies, Morfmordre and Cathrule, I was making a statement," Coldreaver sighed. "What is the Dark Titan's bidding?"

"His will," said Cathrule, the older of the two, "is to eliminate the flame of life from this world."

"To start," continued Morfmordre. "You are to eradicate this land, called Haradwaith."

"This land is filled with men who call themselves, the Haradrim," picked up Cathrule. "The only life in this area is a large encampment nearby."

"This area?" asked Coldreaver.

"Its name is Khand," explained Morfmordre. "This country has six areas altogether. You'll need to eradicate all of the areas, but Khand shall do for starters."

"We will explain more once you find a Gold Mine," concluded Cathrule. "Find one and set up a base camp." With that the Dreadlords created a portal and vanished.

"Let's get moving," said Coldreaver, turning to his warriors. "I want three Ghouls in front, followed by me and two other Ghouls. The Acolytes I want at the back of the group." Once the army had assembled themselves, the Lich shouted, "Let's move!"

The Demon Gate was at the end of some gauntlet, which ran quite a ways. The army moved with caution, expecting to get attacked at any moment. They ran into a few beasts, but they mainly went unchallenged.

After one or two minutes of marching, they reached the end of the gauntlet, and came out to see what they had been looking for, a Gold Mine.

"At last," said Coldreaver. "Let's set up base camp here."

Two Acolytes came forth, and began summoning a Halls of the Dead, and Haunting the Gold Mine. Once the summoning was complete, the acolyte who had done the Haunting began harvesting Gold, while the other four began other tasks. One summoned a Crypt; another summoned an Altar of Darkness, while the third one summoned a Graveyard. Once the buildings began summoning in, the three Acolytes also began harvesting Gold. The last Acolyte summoned up three Ziggurats, and then a Tomb of Relics, and then went to the Gold Mine to harvest.

Three of the Ghouls began harvesting Lumber, while the Crypt researched Ghoul Frenzy. Once that was completed, the Graveyard began researching Unholy Strength and Unholy Armour. Two of the Ziggurats upgraded to Spirit Towers, while the third became a Nerubian Tower.

A portal appeared, and Morfmordre stepped onto the Blighted ground with a Shade.

"I'm glad to see that a camp is finally set up," said the red Dreadlord, surveying the camp, as the Shade headed off into unexplored territory.

"We built as fast as we could, Dreadlord," grimaced Coldreaver. "But with resources limited, it took us a while."

"My brother and I are not interested in excuses," retorted Morfmordre. "Nor is Sargeras, He is not as kind-hearted as Lord Archimonde was."

Coldreaver shivered, remembering when he and what few Undead left returned to the Outlands, after failing to demolish Azeroth. They were weak and ragged, and for all the Lich knew, the only survivors of the failed invasion. There were others, but they had been wiser and not returned, where they knew the Dark Titan's vengeance awaited them.

Archimonde had simply killed those who failed him. Sargeras, He forced those who failed Him through unimaginable pain. Not physical suffering of course, but it was their minds that were whipped, that were twisted, and mutilated. Of all his followers, not one of Coldreaver's entourage died, though soon, even the Lich begged for the mercy of Death. But He kept them all alive, and gave them the second chance to eradicate those who would oppose the Legion's arrival to Middle-Earth, with the promise that if they failed again, their punishment would be ten times worse.

"You said you explain more," Coldreaver said, cursing himself for the twinge of fear that even he heard in his voice. "So, if you could explain."

"Yes," began Morfmordre. "This land is known as Middle-Earth. It has the same races as the last land." Coldreaver was somewhat impressed with how he avoided saying "Azeroth". "The exception is, that the elves do not have blue skin, there are no Taurens, or Trolls that you know of, there are different species of Orcs, including Goblins, and Uruk-hai, and there is another race, known as Hobbits. They are quite similar to Humans, but much shorter. The country we are currently in is called Haradwaith, and is inhabited by Humans. They are wild Men, and beast tamers, and Khand is mainly used for training beasts."

"That explains why the only sentient life in this land is the encampment you spoke of," reasoned Coldreaver.

"Yes," hissed Morfmordre, "and your first task is to destroy this encampment. My Shade is there already, just follow his trail." The Dreadlord began to create a Teleport to leave.

"Wait," interrupted Coldreaver. "I'm supposed to destroy this encampment using only myself and some Ghouls?"

"Correct," nodded the Dreadlord. "It may take you a few tries, but I suggest you do it quickly. There's not much communication between Khand and the rest of this country, but they will contact if they are in need." With that the Dreadlord Teleported, leaving Coldreaver to his own devices.

"You two!" Coldreaver barked at the two Ghouls who were not harvesting Lumber. "Prepare to head out. I want the Crypt to train 9 Ghouls to be ready for combat!" The Lich turned to the Tomb of Relics, knowing his minions would obey him. He searched through the Tomb's wares, and selected a Scroll of Town Portal, a Staff of Re-Animation, and, much to his surprise of finding such a thing, an Orb of Frost.

Coldreaver moved to where the Ghouls he selected waited, and waited for the Crypt to finish training the Ghouls.

Once all the Ghouls were trained, Coldreaver, with his eleven Ghouls left the camp to find the Haradrim Encampment.

They followed where the Shade had gone, and ran into one or two pockets of Creeps, but no more. Until they rounded a corner, and found two Footmen outside a Tent.

"Skeletons?!" exclaimed one, drawing his sword. "CHARGE!" The Ghouls quickly dismembered the unlucky soldiers. Coldreaver had the Tent destroyed to find that Alleria's Flute of Accuracy was in there. As Coldreaver picked it up, Trueshot Aura overcame him. "Odd," he muttered. "What was that doing here?"

The army continued to march on into the night, when they finally reached the encampment. There were a few guards standing watch, when the Undead rushed them. They were slain, but not before calling out for help. As they marched in, the entire encampment awoke, and charged the intruders. The Ghouls and the Lich battled into the dawn, destroying the encampment little by little. By dawn, only Coldreaver still stood of the attacking Undead. All of the Ghouls were slain, but a fourth of the encampment had gone down with them. He continued to fight on his own, until a Knight stabbed him in the back.

As he crashed to the ground, the leader of the encampment, Darsoon, walked up to him. "It's over. I don't know what you are. But you killed many of brethren. Your fate is worthy," sneered the man.

"Foolish boy," hissed Coldreaver. "It's not over, yet. Have I killed _many_ of your brethren? I will have killed them all, including you and all sentient life on Middle-Earth by the time I am done."

"How can you?" asked Darsoon. "You're dead." And he stabbed Coldreaver in the head and slew him.

"Sir?" asked the Knight from before. "There may be truth in his words. There could be others."

"We handled these. We can handle them," bragged Darsoon. "Let's start rebuilding this encampment!"

Back at the Undead base, Coldreaver stepped out of the Altar where he had been resurrected. "He thinks he won," laughed Coldreaver, walking towards the 11 new Ghouls who had been made in advance. "Come. We strike again."

The attacking force headed out for the encampment again. When they reached it, there were no guards, since everyone was inside helping rebuild. With the element of surprise, they came in and attacked without warning.

When the humans finally realized what was happening, only half of the original encampment remained.

"What?" exclaimed Darsoon. "Didn't we already kill you?"

"We're skeletons, boy," Coldreaver cruelly laughed. "You didn't expect us to stay dead, did you?"

After awhile, the attack force was demolished again, but they had taken so much with them, only a fourth of the Haradrim encampment remained.

As Coldreaver was revived again, he moved to the Ghouls who had, once again, been made in advance. He cursed the Crypt's slowness when he saw only 9 ready.

"My Lord," said a nervous Acolyte, leaving the Gold Mine, which was actually pretty big. "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" seethed Coldreaver, as the Tenth Ghoul was trained. "What's wrong is that we need to attack again quickly! Now that they know we can come back to life, he's going to send a message to the rest of Haradwaith. We need the element of surprise for as long as possible! Get back to Harvesting!" With that Coldreaver began marching towards the encampment with the Ghouls, since the last one had been trained.

Once the Acolyte had begun Harvesting again, he looked at one of the other Acolytes. "You think I said the wrong thing?"

Once the third attack force reached the encampment, they found little resistance, and crushed the base until only Darsoon remained.

"Well, come at me!" he shouted. "Even all dozen of you find me a difficult foe to defeat."

Darsoon may have been bragging before, but he was serious this time. He was finally broken and beaten to an inch of his life, but not before claiming six ghouls.

As Darsoon lay spread-eagled, dying, he choked out a few curses. "Save your breath, human," sneered Coldreaver.

"You may have killed me, but soon, all of Haradwaith will know you're here!" he spat. "A messenger bird was up in the air during the battle. It flew once it flew once I fell."

Coldreaver quickly spotted the bird flying west. He calmly cast Frost Nova, and instantly dispatched the bird.

Moving back to Darsoon, Coldreaver heard him say, "With my last few breaths, I curse you heathen Undead! May you rot in Hell forever!"

"These are not your last breaths, frail Human," chuckled Coldreaver, as he used the power of the Staff of Re-Animation.

Darsoon saw a bright light, and felt immense pain throughout his entire body, but _he was not dead._ Not only that, but he saw the world a new way. Everything was clearer, and he now looked at the Lich Coldreaver with Love, Admiration, and Obedience. That Lich he had cursed was his master. Behind him stood some ghost, wraith-like being he had not noticed before. _A Shade,_ he thought, not knowing how he knew. _But it does not answer to Master Coldreaver._ He looked again and saw that 5 of the Ghouls—_How do I know they are called Ghouls?_—that he had slain when he was Blind stood again, but with a red coloring. He looked to his left, and saw himself standing as well, but with the same red coloring as on the Ghouls. _What? How is that possible?_ He gazed down at himself, to discover that now he too was a Shade.

Darsoon gazed upwards, and saw his master look towards a Portal forming, and a demon stepped out. It was a red Dreadlord.

"Well done, Coldreaver," said the Dreadlord gazing at the wreckage of the encampment. He made a motion at the Shade under his command, which entered the portal and vanished. Turning his gaze towards Darsoon, he said, "How odd. What happened? Did you use a Staff of Re-Animation when the spirit was still in the body?"

"It appears so," said Master Coldreaver. "But I did not intend to make a Shade, nor do I have use of one. I may require his services, later, but not now. Can you hold him in your camp until I have need of him?"

Master Coldreaver wanted to send him away! He hoped the Dreadlord would say no. "Very well," nodded the Dreadlord.

"But keep in mind, Morfmordre," Coldreaver whispered. "He is one of my warriors. If he dies, I will hold you and your brother accountable."

"Very well," Morfmordre agreed. As he turned and walked to the portal, he turned and said, "Come, Shade." When Coldreaver nodded, Darsoon knew he had no choice but to obey. He drifted through the Portal with Morfmordre, but in the Portal, he felt a presence, whose intentions were dark, even for the Undead.

Coldreaver watched the shimmering Portal as Cathrule stepped through. "What now?" sighed Coldreaver.

"Your next assignment," hissed Cathrule. You are to go to the region of Far Harad, start up a Base Camp there, and await further instructions. Oh, it will also help if you manage to colonize all of Khand. Those are your orders! Jump to it!" Cathrule walked back through the Portal, which closed behind him.

"Never a moment's reprieve, eh?" Coldreaver grimly smiled. "Let's get moving."

**A/N: Yeah, that Shade Morfmordre sent was there the entire time. The name 'Coldreaver' is a random Lich name from the game. 'Cathrule' and 'Darsoon' I randomly came up with, and 'Morfmordre' is based off of the spell from Harry Potter, Morsemordre, which summons the Dark Mark. The timeframe of Middle-Earth is about 100 years after the war of Sauron. This chapter was six pages long! Please R&R! Until next time with Chapter 2!**


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